


The company of witches

by ForsythiaRising



Category: The Squire's Tales Series - Gerald Morris
Genre: F/M, but mostly witches, kind of outsider pov but only if the outsider is Gaheris and the insiders are enchantresses, knights & witches, set between Savage Damsel and Lioness & Her Knight, the hazards of being a landowner in romanticized arthurian britain, this one goes out to tom malory who doesn’t like giving women names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForsythiaRising/pseuds/ForsythiaRising
Summary: “Yes, well. I may have expressed that, too.” Lynet gives him a skeptical look, and so he adds, “...I know, I know. I should know better than to talk back to witches by now.”Lynet sighs. Gaheris doesn’t blame her, and even sighs as well.—Scenes from Orkney Hall, one Tuesday to the next.
Relationships: Gaheris/Lynet (Squire's Tales)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	The company of witches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/gifts).



> Betony - thank you thank you for the opportunity to write for this ridiculously tiny fandom. It was a joy, and I hope you like this.
> 
> For the record: I did a substantive amount of googling to confirm that I could indeed use modern weekday names for the arthurian era. Tuesday is not, as I understand it, an anachronism here.

* * *

Lady Lynet of Perle is, in a word, formidable. She can bring the wounded back from certain death (demonstrably), turn farmhands into spiders with a well-brewed stew (ostensibly), and steal dinner from a trained knight (once, at age sixteen, via swordpoint, albeit with the knight not at his best - his best still being pretty awful, he’s quite glad they got around past murder and onto marriage, which he likes to think he’s better at).

Lady Lynet of Perle is formidable, capable of many feats of astounding magic and quite a few that don’t require magic at all. So it is _plausible_ , her husband thinks, that the waves of irritation pouring off her could actually cook him alive. Hasn’t happened yet, but he’s not counting it out. 

“And what,” she snaps, pulling a series of cabinets open with increasing force, “has Tuesday got to do with it, hmm?”

“ _Does_ Tuesday _have_ ,” Gaheris murmurs, an absent act of recklessness. 

The look she gives him really ought to burn, and the _slam_ of the cabinet she shoves closed makes him jump. Gaheris has time to wonder why she has salve and bandages in her parlor before she’s back to him, glaring pointedly. 

He opts against asking his question and for answering hers. “No really, Lynet, they have it out for me - ow, that _hurts._ Tuesdays, I mean. They’re evil.” And then, at a particularly rough pass of her hands, “ _Ow!_ I’m injured, you know!”

“Yes, you are!”

“I hate to tell you this, my love, but your bedside manner is lacking.” 

“Oh, you mean you don’t like this nice little experience we have here, where I patch you up and you bleed all over the upholstery?” Her question is accompanied by another series of abrupt, loud movements, mostly pertaining to where various objects are arranged on the side table - salve set aside, bandages retrieved.

”Now that you mention it—“

“ _T_ _hat makes two of us,“_ she hisses, but when she begins wrapping bandage over the wound, her hands are gentle. “You’d best remember this the next time you meet some ninny in armor who’s gone territorial on the woods or a stream or what have you.”

“It was a bridge, and he’s not allowed to be territorial! It’s _my bridge!_ ”

“I know that, but you could at least bring some backup. He’s a knight!”

“I’m a knight!” She narrows her eyes, and after a moment under her scrutiny he admits, “...you make a fair point, but _still._ And he’s not a knight, I don’t think. Certainly not one of Arthur’s.” 

“And yet.” 

He gives her a grin he hopes is sufficiently charming, “At least I won?” he offers.

Lynet snorts.

“Your lack of faith! It wounds me!” He thumps his heart, but accidentally catches the edge of his wound in the mock blow. “Ow, ow, _ow.”_

Lynet quirks an eyebrow at the display, and then says, dry, “Very impressive.” 

Gaheris rubs the spot next to the gash, hoping to ease the sting, and sighs, “Really though, Lynet. I did leave him worse than I.” 

“And how, exactly, did you manage that?” 

“Well, you know that one plank, the rotten one that—“

“You keep meaning to replace, ah, yes. Got him to step on it, did you?” 

“Fell right on through. It's a short fall and a shallow stream, but it did a number on him anyway. Horse seemed fine; I'm glad of that. It’s not that creature’s fault her master is a numskull with something to prove.”

“And then you—”

“Left, yes.”

“Ah.” 

They sit in silence for a moment, and then she says, “Gary, I’m still not clear on one thing.”

“Yes, my love?”

“After all that...why, precisely, are _you_ wounded?”

Gaheris pauses, but his wife stares him down again, and really, what is he supposed to do against that. 

“I, uh...slipped.”

“You slipped.”

“On the bank.”

“On the bank.”

“I was, uh, trying to go. In case he, ah...got out of the stream.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, well,” Gaheris coughs, “it was...wet.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tuesdays, and all. Have it out for me.”

“Uh- _huh_.”

“It’ll all be fine tomorrow. You’ll see.” 

“ _Uh_ - _huh_.”

* * *

The witch turns up on Wednesday.

“A _what?”_

“A witch.”

“I _heard_ you.” 

“Well, you did ask—”

“ _Gary.”_

“Right. Well.” Gaheris fidgets, “So, I’m on my way home - usual time, usual road - and then suddenly in the middle of it is just this redhead witch—“

“Enchantress.”

“—and I’m already suspicious, because it’s not exactly the first time I’ve come across a very pretty woman riding alone and looking like a thundercloud.” 

His mouth clicks shut as he hears his own words, and he eyes Lynet, wary.

She cocks her head to the side, very carefully. Then she says, with deliberate, dangerous slowness, “Go on.”

He clears his throat, “So, this, uh, this woman - who is not nearly so vivacious and impressive as some that I have come across, you should know, _ahem_ \- she asks me if I was the man who defeated the Bridge Knight, and, well, that’s not quite the way I’d put it and a pretty stupid name to give oneself, which I may have—“

“You _didn’t.”_

 _“_ —mentioned. Ay, I did. You can’t tell me you would have done any less.” 

Lynet grimaces, but doesn’t argue. She props her hands on her hips and says, “And now you’re cursed. Again.” 

“Now I’m _almost_ cursed, again. Said she’ll stop by next week to do the cursing.” 

“...that’s kind of her.” 

“Bit more of a _think on your sins_ thing, I imagine.” Gaheris grimaces, “I’m to be a toad this time, apparently.”

Lynet groans. “Of all the juvenile things.”

“Yes, well. I may have expressed that, too.” Lynet gives him a skeptical look, and so he adds, “...I know, I know. I should know better than to talk back to witches by now.” 

Lynet sighs. Gaheris doesn’t blame her, and even sighs as well. 

* * *

Gaheris’ Aunt Morgan is heart-stoppingly beautiful, with long gold hair that she wears in an elaborate knot on her head and a way of holding herself that makes him wonder - even though he knows her, has his whole life - if he’s supposed to bow, every time they meet. She’s also cantankerous and supercilious, looking at him with those deep, ageless eyes that he knows are enchantress’ eyes, knows are his wife’s eyes, and yet sit somehow different in Morgan’s smooth, gorgeous face. A bit like they looked on his mother, but - less cruel, but also less familiar. 

(He likes Morgan better than his mother, though. She gets on with his wife and is, at the very least, indifferent to him, which is a few steps up from hateful.)

Today she’s draped herself elegantly along the length of Lynet’s parlor couch, rich gown and stunning looks a contrast to the modesty of the room and the plainer form of its owner. The visual mismatch does not extend to the way the women interact, conversation volleying back and forth like old friends - because they are, Gaheris supposes, old friends, or teacher and pupil, or _whatever_ , and isn’t that still a trip.

He, for his part, knows better than to interfere - shop talk of this sort is something he tries to avoid. He wouldn’t be here at all if he weren’t, unfortunately, the subject under discussion.

“—could just let her curse him, see what happens.”

“ _Morgan!”_ Lynet hisses, which Gaheris appreciates. 

“What? We could most likely change him back.”

Lynet cocks her head a little, thoughtful, and now Gaheris has to jump in with, “My darling wife, who I love very much—”

“Yes, yes, we won’t let her turn you into a toad,” Lynet rolls her eyes, but turns back to Morgan, “I’d say my husband has had quite enough of being things he’s not, in any case. I’d rather like to resolve this otherwise.”

Morgan gives a long-suffering sigh, like Gaheris’ refusal to resign himself to toadhood is a personal inconvenience. She says, “I don’t know how you get yourself into these things, nephew. Your brother I’d expect it from, but you’re supposed to be sensible. Or so your wife tells me.”

Gaheris is saved from having to respond to this when his wife snorts, “Gareth? Ha! Now _he_ could use some time as a toad.”

“Think your new enchantress friend could be convinced as much?” Morgan asks, flippant.

Gaheris idly tosses out, “I certainly don’t think she knows exactly who I am, she’d probably believe—”

Gaheris meets his wife’s eyes in a long, surprisingly serious moment of sudden consideration. The glitter of possibility sits, tempting, between them, a balancing act of _would that work?_ and _could we bring ourselves to…?_ and _would we have to clean up the mess?_

“Well?” Morgan asks.

The moment breaks, and Gaheris and Lynet both shake their heads.

“Best not,” Gaheris notes, with only a tinge of regret.

* * *

In the end, they decide on the simplest option, which is indeed to wait and see what happens. Gareth is not a particular fan of it, being that his humanhood is on the line, but he settles when the women make it clear that they intend on precautions. Come the next Wednesday, Gaheris will remain at the house and they will all wait together: Lynet for her savagery (Gaheris waggles his eyebrows; the women roll their eyes), Morgan for her wisdom (Gaheris snorts; the women glare), and Gaheris to keep it civil (their turn to snort; his to glare). 

Which is all good and well, except: the witch comes early. She comes on Tuesday, and so Lynet is the only one home. This is not good.

For the witch. 

“And _another thing!_ You think you can waltz in here on _our land_ , and - worse - interrupt the daily life of _how_ _many_ tenants? These are hardworking people, and if your, your numskull beau thinks he has _any right_ to make a nuisance of himself, he has another thing coming! And you! You are out here _encouraging it_ , why I _...“_

Gaheris, covered in dust and just in from his visit to the usual Tuesday tenants, stands stock-still in the doorway to his wife’s parlor. The witch - definitely the same one, he can tell by the sleek, vivid red of her hair - has her back to him, and he catches his wife’s eye over her shoulder. 

_“Bad time?”_ he mouths. 

Lynet does not miss a beat in her diatribe, and one would have to know her very, very well to identify the subtle dip of her head between one word and the next as a nod. 

Gaheris nods back, turns, and - very, very quietly - takes his leave. 

* * *

When he comes back, there’s a witch in his wife’s parlor.

Well, alright, that’s normal. But this is the wrong witch.

“Uh...hello?” He says, carefully.

She’d threatened to turn him into an amphibian a week ago. Now, she looks up at him with wide, deer-like eyes.

They stare at each other like that for a long, long moment.

And then, _thank heavens_ , his wife walks in.

“Oh, good! There you are. Ann is staying for dinner.”

He turns to her, blinking. “Ann?”

“Gary, this is Anwaine; Anwaine, Sir Gaheris. Obviously you’ve already met, but reintroductions can be useful as circumstances change.” Lynet throws him a sharp, sweet smile, and he knows she’s thinking about their own reintroductions that one night under the half moon. 

Anwaine - Ann - gives him a shy smile, “Uh, hi,” she says, positively bashful, “I’m uh...I’m very sorry, about the whole...cursing...thing.” 

Her fingers are fluttering nervously around her teacup, and Gaheris notices for the first time how very young she is under all that unfathomable sorceress’ beauty; couldn’t be older than eighteen. A quick glance at his wife tells him - not _all_ he needs to know, but enough. 

”No harm done, lass,” he says, “so long as it’s one of the circumstances that have, uh, changed.”

“Oh, oh, yes of course!” the girl hurries to assure him, glancing at Lynet, who treats her to a firm nod, “It’s, well, you see, I didn’t think— I mean, I thought—”

“Take your time,” Gaheris says, gently. He takes a seat at the table - a few seats away, so as not to crowd her, but no longer towering over her. He pours himself some tea.

Ann takes a few breaths to settle. When she speaks again, she says, “It’s just, that’s how I thought it was...done, you know? You find a knight who likes you, and you just...help? That’s what all the stories say, anyway. I didn’t know there were other…” she casts another glance at Lynet, who smiles encouragingly, “...options, I suppose.” 

(There’s another witch in his memory; one with a white horse and long eyelashes and a different curse. She never looked at him like this, he thinks, like she didn’t know what to do at all, let alone what to do with him.)

(The witch - Anwaine - stays for dinner.)

* * *

Morgan comes too - out of where, Gaheris has no idea, but his wife insists she be invited and he can’t exactly say no. Somehow he ends up around the dining table with his wife and his aunt and his would-be toad-maker, all discussing the best way to keep a food preservation spell at maximum strength, or something. Important stuff, that, and useful enough that he’d tried to follow, but by now he’s not clear on anything except that he’s rather totally lost. 

Lynet notices. 

“You alright there, dear?” she asks, in a voice that says he’d better be. 

He throws her a smile, all affable charm. “Oh, yes. Just wondering how I got here, is all. But I suppose there’s worse places to be, than dinner with a bunch of witches.”

Morgan narrows her eyes as Ann’s go wide, but his wife knows a joke when she hears one. She gives him her own fierce grin, uses the back end of her spoon to smack his arm. She opens her mouth, and—

_(“—Enchantress,” his wife and daughter correct him in unison, many years later. The pair of them look at each other with an awe he can never touch, and then they’re both laughing and laughing and laughing._

_Well, he thinks, bemused. It could be worse._

_And then the two women are embracing, their smiles bright with tears, and he revises the thought._

_No, he thinks. It couldn’t be better.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Anwaine breaks up with her shitty not-a-knight boyfriend. He gets no name or screen time because I’m eternally mad that Malory doesn’t like to give those things to girls. 
> 
> I reread _The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf_ and _The Lioness and her Knight_ for this (it was an AMAZING excuse to revisit my early teenhood - it's honestly incredible how formative Morris' books were in both my reading and writing habits), but was not able to reread the series in full. I don't believe any part of this fic contradicts the series canon, but if you, my reader, catch anything, do let me know.


End file.
